Injured on the Outside, Broken on the Inside
by alex-the-demigod
Summary: England and France are in a night battle against Germany in WW2. Everything seems to be going to plan, at first...but then France receives a message from an English soldier that the English troops that had advanced were all shot down and dead. Upon hearing this he goes to search for England and doesn't expect what he finds.(Rated T for a little bit of war violence)
1. Searching and Wounded

**Hey guys! Sorry for that weird short break! This is a new story! Yeah yeah I know I'm supposed to working on German Beer and Recalling the Casualties of Time, but I am, they will be posted shortly after this one. **

**So anyways, this one is a Fruk story, kinda angsty with a war setting. I wrote this with my Tumblr friend Mara. She wrote France's POV and I wrote England's POV. So yay you get two writers!**

**Enjoy this one, and I'm updating storied today, so as I said earlier, I will be updating all of my stories! Sorry for any mistakes**

**I DO NOT OWN AXIS POWERS HETALIA OR ITS CHARACTERS! ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND PLOT MENTIONED IN THIS STORY FROM THE SERIES BELONG TO THE ANIME HETALIA AND ITS CREATORS. MY FRIEND AND I ONLY OWN THE PLOT FOR THE STORY BELOW.**

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France's POV

World War II was hardly in swing, and France was already so beaten down he could barely function.

However, this was war, and for the sake of his people, he had to fight.

That's why he was here, clad in his signature night-sky-colored military uniform, rifle in hand, under the foggy sky of midnight, distant shots echoing painfully in his ears. He leaned up against a tattered brick structure, listening for sounds of anyone coming. England and Canada's armies were advancing to the right, and it was time his own moved as well.

Turning to his general, France shouted, "We need to catch up with Angleterre and Canada. The German armies will be here at any moment."

The general simply nodded and shrieked French incoherently, waving frantically towards the dozen men behind him who began sprinting forwards, pointing shiny barrels ahead of them, prepared for any surprise the blitzing Germans could have in store. France followed shortly after, panting heavily. He wasn't accustomed to this sort of running.

His boots pounded harshly against the cold dirt. On alert, he whipped his head in all directions, seeing no current German activity in the abandoned ghost town. Bodies of fallen English and Canadian soldiers lined the grass. All was quiet save for the distant shots and the sound emanating from his footsteps. He blocked out the sound of his troops marching ahead of him in favor of listening for enemies. Perhaps paranoia got the best of him...but truth be told, France had never been the biggest fan of war.

Suddenly, his trance was interrupted by a young English private nearly smacking into him. The brunette haired boy was shaking uncontrollably and his jaw was coated in vomit. He grasped onto France, who steadied the young soldier and demanded, "What? What is wrong?"

Terrified emerald colored eyes met France's as the young man sputtered, "The squad! Shot down! Gone! Dead!"

France's brows furrowed in horrified concern as he yanked up on the boy's arm and steadied him. "Who's squad? You don't mean Angleterre's?"

The other simply panted and stared blankly at him, aside from his downward twitching lips. "Oh, mon Dieu." France muttered. "Get back with the other troops. Now." The boy shuffled away, leaving France to himself. Oh, Angleterre...this cannot be serious. Dead? Non, it cannot be.

At that, France begun a mad sprint forward. He loathed the English country with a burning passion, but this was war.

That's why he found himself more focused on finding England than he did his own survival.

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England's POV

England looked around at his troops, advancing alongside him. He gripped his rifle and gestured to his troops to follow him towards a small abandoned building that had collapsed halfway a long time ago.

They all crouched in and around the back the building, looking for German troops. Gunshots rang from a little ways away, along with war cries, but England tried to drown those out by resting his head on one of the brick walls.

War can really make a person tired, England thought and he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He glanced at his troops, keeping an eye out for the Germans, but resting a little like he was. Everyone looked tired, but still they somehow stayed awake, probably in fear of the Germans invading them while they slept.

England looked up at the night sky and felt himself daydreaming of the day this war would end. Even though it had just started, he wanted it to be over. He wanted to be able to be with friends, drink ale and call France some bad names.

Haha, France…..England thought, speaking of the frog, where is he? Maybe he's advancing too, just from a different direction. England smiled to himself, Maybe I should apologize for being so rude to him, he thought as he looked at the stars in the sky, maybe, we could be friends…if we stop being mean to each other and forgive one other for what happened in the past…..

Suddenly, gunshots echoed throughout the outside of the building. England snapped his head towards the sounds.

The Germans, England thought, they've spotted us. He jumped up and aimed his rifle, ready to shoot, and yelled to his General, "Fall back! Tell everyone to fall back to the rendezvous point!" The General heard him, but before he could signal to the others to fall back, he was shot down by an enemy soldier. England shot the German in the leg and shoulder to wound him and ran off to find the rest of his troops, who were scattered through the interior and exterior of the building.

One by one, every soldier under his command were shot down. England ran through, shooting every German he saw, but not before another one of his soldiers fell dead to the ground.

Finally, he himself took three bullets to the shoulder and he fell to the ground.

He gritted his teeth as pain shot through his left shoulder. He pulled his sleeve over his hand and put pressure on the bullet wound, trying to stop the bleeding. He then decided to act like he was dead so no one would kill him, and laid on the ground motionless.

He stayed there for what felt like hours. As he was there, a few German soldiers came in to look for survivors and looked at him quickly, before moving on to the rest of the area.

He breathed slowly, pain still ripping through his shoulder, as he waited for someone to come and find him. I wonder if anyone will come before it's too late, England thought, staring at the night sky through a large hole in the ceiling, I don't want to die here….

**I hope you liked it! Please tell me if you do or don't like it so far in the reviews!-Alex**


	2. Found

**Hey guys! Here's a new chapter for you! Sorry for any grammar mistakes!**

**Oh and this chapter switches back and forth from France's and England's POV. Sorry if it gets annoying.**

**I DO NOT OWN AXIS POWERS HETALIA OR ITS CHARACTERS! ALL OF THE CHARACTERS AND PLOT MENTIONED IN THIS STORY FROM THE SERIES BELONG TO THE ANIME HETALIA AND ITS CREATORS. MY FRIEND AND I ONLY OWN THE PLOT FOR THE STORY BELOW.**

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France's POV

The only thing louder than the pounding of boots on dirt was France's heartbeat. He was alone as he moved as quickly as his hardly toned legs could take him. Could England really be dead? Not that he'd care - the moron deserved it in France's eyes. However, he couldn't afford to lose him. He wasn't even that terrible a thorn in his side anymore, despite a history of horrid bloodshed.

He simply prayed that England's heart was beating like his was.

France had no clue where to search, save for the general direction England's troops were headed. He silently cursed himself for not paying more attention. Something like this was bound to happen eventually, and whether it were to him, Canada, or England, only time was there to tell. And he knew it had spoken violently when his boot caught the shoulder of England himself.

He heard a cry of pain and gazed down to see emerald eyes quickly open then squeeze themselves shut. The other nation lay on his side as if playing dead - perhaps, France thought, that was what he was doing - and gripped his shoulder carefully but with malice. The cringe etched onto his face showed clear agony. England had to have been shot.

Glancing around, the corpses of several dozen soldiers, gunned down undoubtedly at the hands of Germany's incredibly talented shooters, lined the mud like an eerie carpet. France felt himself unconsciously swallow and he shakily bent down to meet England.

If it weren't for nation's extended immunity, England would certainly have perished. The fabric of his dark green uniform was tattered like an ancient flag, and France could see a small pool of blood forming around it. The question was no longer whether or not England had been shot - it was how many times.

"Mon Dieu! Honestly, Angleterre...why is it always you that ends up in these messes?"

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England's POV

England coughed and shivered. He kept looking at the night sky through the hole in the ceiling. How can something be so beautiful right now? England breathed slowly, trying to keep himself from panting from the pain.

What could stop the wound from hurting so much? England thought to himself for a moment, and then came up with a solution. Think of happy thoughts. Some really happy thoughts. That should get my mind off of the pain.

He thought about the times he had with France that weren't bad. He remembered that France took him to a bar before they went to war. Huh….he thought, trying to hold back a smile, I got so drunk. France said that when he tried to drive me home, I kept trying to punch the window, claiming I was James Bond…

England gasped as the pain got worse. No, he thought, thinking of good memories won't help. It's hurts too much.

Suddenly, someone struck his wounded shoulder and pain filled his whole left shoulder area. He kept still, however, thinking the person was a German soldier. Instead of shouting in pain, he clenched his teeth and tried to lay motionless.

The person bent down over him, and glanced at his wound. England tried not to make any sounds and kept still, thinking the German was suspicious. Then the person spoke…French?

England looked with his eyes over to the person to find that it was none other than France himself. "F….Frog…took you long enough," England managed to get out.

He tried to move to sit up, but when he tried to move, pain erupted across his body. He looked at his blood drenched shoulder and sleeve. He forced a smile, "Never have I ever been glad to see you here….."England started to hyperventilate from the torturous bullet wounds, knowing that he was now safe to do so in France's company. He looked over at the wounds and saw that he bleed more that he thought he did.

He looked back up at France, "P…please…..I can't move…I need to get up…"

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France's POV

France's eyebrows furrowed in anxiety and worry. He knew it wasn't in England's best interest to attempt and sit up, or at least he thought. With him in that much agony, though, what was France supposed to do? He had studied medicine before. God, he should know this. Why was there only one solution he could think of?

Gently pushing England back down, he commanded, "No, Angleterre, you've been injured terribly. I need to fashion a tourniquet."

At that, he yanked off his jacket belt and looped it around England's shoulder. As he carefully squeezed it as tight as he safely could, he flatly apologized, "I don't know how much this will do, but it is better than nothing." Sighing considerably, he continued, "We need to get you to a hospital. Now."

He sat idly on one knee, frowning at his work. England was shot in the shoulders, not the arm - the tourniquet wouldn't do anything. There was no way he could admit that to England, though. It was absolutely vital for the other nation to stay calm, something his mild panic and hyperventilating contradicted.

France had seen nations die before. One by his own hands. Could England really bleed out? Unfortunately, he hadn't the first clue, and that terrified him.

Another thought also plagued him - there was only one way England was going anywhere. France would have to carry him.

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England's POV

England winced as France lifted him off the ground. "What the bloody hell are you doing? I can walk by myself, "England exclaimed, trying to get France to put him down by struggling. He gave up after France started jogging with him in his arms. France said something to him, but he couldn't really interpret it, due to his ears being clouded with the throbbing pain coming from his body. It felt like he was injured in places other than his shoulder. He tried one more time to break free from Frances arms, only to achieve nothing. He finally relaxed in Frances arms, trying not to move any more than he should, in fear of his shoulder erupting in excruciating pain, as it did before when he tried to get up.

England looked at his hands, stained with his blood from his wound. He tried to put one of them over the bullet wound, so it wouldn't get on France, but France saw this and smacked England's hand away, saying something about infection. England heard that word and put his hand down. His hand was dirty, so maybe it could cause the wound to get infected, he thought.

England looked at the sky again, it was still a bit dark, but the sky was lighter than before. England felt his eyes start to close as he realized the time of night it was.

He really was exhausted, and the blood loss from his bullet wounds weren't helping to keep him awake. He took one look at France at realized what he just did. The bloody frog saved him, or at least saved him from being shot at again by the Germans. There was no way he'd have stayed there unnoticed, and eventually, he would've been taken prisoner.

England managed to smile at France," B-bloody frog. You s-saved me from the Germans. T-thank you….."England struggled to get out before he passed out, his head dropping onto France's chest.

**That's it for this chapter! Make sure to tell me if you liked it in the reviews! See ya later!-Alex**


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